


Sufficiently Advanced Technology

by MaryRoyale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Stargate Atlantis, The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: F/M, Little Black Dress, Sentinel Fusion, Sentinel/Guide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 22:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15850341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryRoyale/pseuds/MaryRoyale
Summary: Unspeakable Hermione Granger thought cataloguing musty magical artefacts would be boring, right up until one of them transported her to another world. Trapped in another galaxy, Hermione will need to use all of her hard-won skills to survive. In her spare time, she might be able to get her recalcitrant Sentinel to admit he belongs to her.





	1. Ancient Artefacts

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Arthur C. Clarke's Third Law of Prediction: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. 
> 
> This is a Stargate: Atlantis, Harry Potter crossover. Ancient and Ancient Runes are the same thing. The Ancient Merlin is the same wizard who was so influential in Britain's wizarding world.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's willing to do a lot to avoid working with Zacharias Smith--even catalogue musty old artefacts for months at a time. Unfortunately, one of those artefacts does a lot more than she expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written the Little Black Dress challenge on Rough Trade in July 2018. 
> 
> All the love for my beta Auntie_L.

 

 

Sufficiently Advanced Technology

Chapter 1—Ancient Artefacts

 

“Are you being punished?” Draco leaned against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his chest and his lips twitched.

Kneeling back on her feet, Hermione glared up at him from the floor of one of the dusty storage rooms in the Department of Mysteries. Her Unspeakable robes were spread out around her, getting a thick layer of dust on them, but she’d pushed her hood back to better read the list in her hand.  

“No, Draco, I’m not being punished,” she huffed at him.

“Uh-huh.” Draco eyed the contents of the room and then turned back to her. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” Hermione snapped. “I asked to be assigned here.”

At that Draco straightened, his arms dropping to his sides. He frowned at her.

“What happened?” He demanded. Stress lines bracketed his mouth. “Did someone—whose arse do I need to kick?”

“I asked for this so that we could all avoid any possible arse-kicking,” Hermione countered. She scowled up at him. “Which, if there were, I am completely capable of handling on my own, thanks.”

“You know that, and I know that, but Potter seems to have missed that memo,” Draco reminded her. He rolled his eyes and went back to lounging indolently against the stone wall. “You know how obnoxious he can be when he thinks you’re in danger.”

“That’s because he’s a Sentinel and a prat,” Hermione grumbled.

“Try being his Guide,” Draco drawled. He held up a hand and shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I love him with everything that I am, but there are times when I just want to--”

“Just want to what?” A very familiar voice asked drily.

Both Hermione and Draco turned to look at Harry who was standing in the doorway dressed in his full Auror gear. Hermione blinked at the sight of her best friend in form-fitting and _very_ flattering basilisk-hide. As Draco liked to comment far too much for her peace of mind—Harry Potter made Auror tactical gear look _good_.

“Climb you like a tree?” Draco suggested with a leer and a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Later,” Harry promised his Guide with a smouldering glance.

“Right here!” Hermione protested, waving her hands in the air.

“Like you would mind the show,” Draco scoffed. He sent her a cheeky grin.

“Draco!” Hermione hissed. She waved at the open door where anyone could walk past at any time. “Really?”

“Sorry,” Draco winced.

Pulling the door shut behind him, Harry stepped into the room. He glanced around at the rows of dusty shelves and the piles of unlabelled boxes that filled the storage room, and then turned to frown at Hermione.

“Are you being punished?” He asked.

“Oh, for the love of—no. No, I am not being punished. They’re doing rotations, and this time I would have been partnered with Zacharias Smith.” She pointedly ignored the low growl that emanated from Harry. “In order to avoid Harry beating him half to death the first time he made some disgusting comment about Muggleborns, Guides, or my relationships with either or both of you—I begged Croaker to let me spend this rotation doing an inventory of this storage room.”

“What about your relationships with us?” Harry demanded with a frown.

“Love, you know the wizarding public has a fairly skewed understanding of how Sentinel/Guide relationships work,” Draco reminded him.

“It doesn’t help that there have been instances when a same-sex bonded pair will seek outside help to have children,” Hermione added. She shrugged. “They usually choose another pair, or an unbonded Guide. I think most people assume that I’ll act as a surrogate to your heirs.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “The _Prophet_ certainly does.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and he stared at Hermione with wide eyes. Then he turned to look at Draco who shrugged and shook his head.

“Hermione, love,” Harry began and then seemed to flounder for a moment. He sighed and knelt on the ground near her. “I…” He looked up at Draco for help.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Draco muttered. He turned to Hermione and gave her a gentle smile. “You already know we wouldn’t kick you out of bed.”

A dull flush spread over Hermione’s cheeks. It had been only the once, and that was mostly because being with both Harry and Draco just made the place inside her that belonged to _her_ Sentinel ache with longing.

“I know that,” she muttered, averting her gaze.

“Hey.” Harry put one gloved finger under her chin and tilted her face up until she was looking him in the face. “Draco or I would never want to do anything that would upset you. If we come to a place where everyone is okay with that, then okay. If we don’t, there are other options. Magic is useful like that.”

“There’s always adoption,” Draco added. He smirked at Hermione. “Maybe a nice Muggleborn orphan.”

A startled laugh escaped Hermione. “There must be at least one pale, little, blond orphan out there,” she agreed.

“It wouldn’t matter if they were or not,” Draco said with an unbecoming smugness. “The adoption ritual would take care of all of that.”

“All right?” Harry asked watching her with a worried expression.

“Yes, fine,” Hermione sighed. She poked him in the shoulder. “Don’t you dare threaten Croaker. I have enough rumours flying about this place without you acting like you’re my Sentinel.”

“Sweetheart, you’re part of my pride. I’m your Alpha. How am I not your Sentinel?” Harry asked drily. Then he softened and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “At least until the arsehole that belongs to you shows up, I’m going to do my damnedest to keep you safe for him. Not that he deserves you.”

“What if he is a she?” Hermione teased him.

“She’s still an arsehole,” Harry said stubbornly. “You’ve been online for seven years. You’ve bounced all over the place looking for her. Where is she?”

“I have every confidence that my Sentinel is kicking in the teeth of some arseholes that deserve it,” Hermione told him with a shrug.

It was the only thing that made sense to her because Harry was right. She had been online for seven years. As a witch, she was infinitely more mobile than most people. She had attended Sentinel/Guide meet & greets all over the world—both muggle and magical. None of the many, many, _many_ Sentinels that she had met had been hers. There had been a couple that had been close, but there was always that little something missing that made her shake her head and say ‘no.’

The only Sentinels that she hadn’t been able to meet were those in active military manoeuvres, or who were doing classified, secret work. There had been a couple of governments who had offered to pull in their Sentinels so that she could meet them, but that always felt wrong. Her Sentinel, wherever they were, was doing what they needed to do, and protecting the tribe. Hermione could wait.

“It would be pretty hard for her to be a bigger arsehole than my Sentinel,” Draco stated with a little grin in Hermione’s direction.

“True enough,” Hermione agreed over Harry’s sputtered protests. She made a little shooing motion at the both of them. “Take your arsehole and go. I’ve got an inventory to update.”

Draco looked around the room suspiciously. “When was the last time they did an inventory on this room?”

“1826,” Hermione replied. She shook her head at both wizards. “I chose this room _because_ the records are shoddy and incomplete. Who knows what I might find in here?”

“Merlin only knows,” Draco muttered as he ran his finger through a thick layer of dust. He frowned at his finger and then turned to look at Hermione. “Make sure you use all the safety protocols when you open those boxes. Some of the really old artefacts will probably just have a scrap of parchment written in Old English or inscribed with Ancient Runes.”

“Yes, thank you, Draco,” Hermione retorted. She rolled her eyes at them. “I do know how to do my job. Top of my class at the International Academy. I won the Spellman Award for my translation work.”

“Right.” Harry leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “We trust you to be safe and do your job.”

“We’re still going to worry,” Draco added as he bent a knee to kiss her other cheek. “Dinner this Friday night?”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed.

“Good. See you then.” Draco grabbed Harry by the hand and pulled him from the room.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Storage room M18 was utterly fascinating. Slowly but surely, Hermione had spent the last few months cataloguing every item, updating the inventory list, and labelling the shelves and boxes. There one only one last shelf unit to go, and Hermione was filled with curiosity.

Most storage rooms had, at one point at least, attempted a basic theme. Intriguingly, this room had no listed theme or category. It had been left tantalizingly blank. However, there had been a prominent theme since she had opened the very first box.

Every artefact in storage room M18 was exceedingly old. In fact, several of them had been labelled “Ancient.” Hermione assumed that meant that they were at least 4th century CE or earlier, since that was the standard use of the word “ancient” when dealing with history or archaeology. Even more interesting was that the majority appeared to be linked to Merlin, which was slightly problematic. Merlin had supposedly attended Hogwarts, which wasn’t founded until the 11th century. How could he be considered _ancient_?

One of the more interesting things that she had noticed was that the items that were specifically labelled “ancient” would glow brightly when she drew near to them. She had conducted several experiments and had even forced Draco and Harry to help her.

“Can you feel that?” Hermione had asked Draco curiously one day. He had nodded with a slight frown on his face.

“Yeah. It… it wants us to touch it,” he’d muttered. “It feels like a… floor cleaner?”

“It’s a strange sort of interactive magic, as near as I can tell,” Hermione explained eagerly. She waved a hand in the artefact’s direction. “A whole field of magic that’s been completely forgotten!”

“Maybe there was a good reason for forgetting it, Hermione,” Draco warned her. He glanced around the room and then turned back to her. “You’re using all the protocols, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Hermione huffed at him.

“You’ve got your bag with you?” Draco continued with an air of determination. Hermione flinched and looked away from him. Draco sighed. “Love, the war changed everyone. We all have our little quirks. Harry always carries two wands—just in case. I carry an emergency portkey. You carry your little beaded bag. It’s okay, you know.”

“I’ve got my bag,” Hermione admitted. She touched it, taking off the disillusion spell that hid it from sight.

“Good.” Draco said with a nod. “Merlin knows you’ve got everything stuffed in there.”

“I’ll be fine, Draco,” Hermione said. She picked up the magical floor cleaner and set it down with a little pat. It began to move silently over the floor, hoovering up dust. “If this artefact escapes, the worst that will happen is that the Ministry will become tidier.”

“I suppose.” Doubt lingered heavily in Draco’s tone.

“I’m careful,” Hermione reminded him. She put her hands on her hips and frowned at him. “What’s bothering you?”

“Merlin was a Slytherin,” Draco explained. He paused and shook his head. “I’m not saying we’re all evil, because we’re not. Just… treat it like you found an entire room filled with Theo Nott’s special projects.”

“He wouldn’t mean for them to be dangerous, but the Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were too interesting to ignore?” Hermione suggested with a quirked eyebrow.

“Exactly,” Draco agreed.

“I have been,” Hermione said with a sigh. She frowned at him. “What’s really bothering you?”

“I don’t know,” Draco replied. He ran a hand through his hair. “I just get a weird feeling in this room. Not anything negative—it isn’t like there’s a cursed object, or anything.”

“It’s all the stuff marked ‘Ancient.’ There’s a sort of—I can’t really describe it— an echo? There’s a sort of magical echo from all of it. I feel it when I enter the room, and I feel the lack when I leave,” Hermione explained.

“I don’t like it,” Draco muttered. “It feels like it’s trying to interact with my magic.”

“It is.” Hermione patted him on the shoulder. “I won’t ask you to help again, Draco. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll help,” Draco protested. “It just feels strange.”

“I’ve gotten used to it,” Hermione said with a shrug.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 “Huh.” Hermione opened the next box and blinked in surprise.

There was a stasis spell in place over the contents of the box. Cautiously, Hermione began to run through the full protection protocols. Pulling out her wand, she began to cast diagnostic spells on the stasis spell surrounding whatever was in the box. She frowned at the readouts.

“That can’t be right,” she muttered. “Janus Atlantii? 10,000 years?”

After several more diagnostics, Hermione reluctantly left the storage room and went to find one of her Department of Mystery co-workers. Theo Nott’s office was just down the hall from hers, and if anyone could help her figure out why her diagnostic spells were displaying erroneous information, it would be Theo.

“Hey Theo,” Hermione called as she poked her head into his office. “Do you have a moment?”

Theo scowled at her. “You! I’m still brassed off at you,” he informed her coolly.

“I had no way of knowing that you’d end up with Smith,” Hermione protested. Theo scoffed openly at that.

“I bet you bribed Croaker with some shiny whatsit from that storage room,” Theo grumbled.

“I did not!” Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “I’m prepared to bribe you with a shiny whatsit though.”

“Really?” Theo sat up in his chair. “What sort of shiny whatsit?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “It’s throwing off weird results to the diagnostics.”

“That sounds fascinating,” Theo murmured. He stood up and pulled on his Unspeakable robes. “Let’s go take a look at it.”

They spent the better part of the day running more and more obscure diagnostic spells and taking turns writing down careful notes of all the results. Finally, Theo threw his hands up in the air.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Hermione. According to everything we’ve run, this artefact, whatever it is, was put into stasis by a wizard named Janus of Atlantis about 10,000 years ago.” Theo tapped his wand against his hand. “As ridiculous as it may sound, I can’t think of any other explanation.”

Hermione frowned at the box. “Should we try to remove the stasis field?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Theo hedged. He glanced around the room at all the boxes sitting neatly on their shelves. “Maybe we could do it in one of the warded rooms?”

Between the two of them, Hermione and Theo levitated the box out of storage room M18 and down the hall toward the rooms with containment wards. Unfortunately, they ran into Smith on their way there.

“There you are, Nott.” Smith eyed them with a frown. “I’m supposed to be your partner this rotation. What on earth are you doing with _Granger_?”

“He’s merely giving me a hand to the warded rooms. You can have him back in just a moment,” Hermione snapped as she tried to rein in her temper.

“Just going to remove a stasis spell,” Theo added. “Shan’t take more than a tick, old chap.”

“Is that all?” Smith sniffed condescendingly. “Since when do we need a warded room for a simple stasis spell? _Finite incantatem_.” He waved his wand and pointed it at the box, which was in front of Hermione.

“NO!” Theo and Hermione shouted together.

A brilliant white light filled the hallway, blinding her. Her eyes began to stream with tears, making it difficult for her to see. It felt as if all of her were being pulled apart, molecule by molecule. Gasping with pain, she curled in on herself. There was a crackling sound, like the sizzle of electricity and she could smell ozone burning. Something picked her up in the air and dropped her. Her magic made her bounce harmlessly before she landed on the ground.

Slowly, Hermione struggled to her feet, blinking away tears and weaving where she stood.

This was not the hallway for the Department of Mysteries.

Surrounding her was flat, scrubby ground. A few scattered bushes and trees off in the distance. In one direction, few hundred meters away there was a huge round circle. In another direction, she could see smoke rising from what looked to be an ancient village, or maybe an open-air museum.

Apparition didn’t work. Creating emergency portkeys didn’t work. Panic gnawed at Hermione, but she tried to stay calm. Panicking didn’t help anyone.

“Bloody hell,” Hermione muttered to herself. Had the shiny whatsit been a modified time-turner? Was this some ancient Britannic village? “I am not ready to be Boadicea,” she grumbled as she slowly made her way toward the village.

The villagers weren’t ready for her to be Boadicea, either. They eyed her suspiciously and seemed confused and upset when she couldn’t communicate with them. Knowing when to pick her battles, Hermione left the village. She hiked a fair distance away before she pulled her beaded bag out of her robes.

Maybe carrying it around for seven years after the War had ended _wasn’t_ completely mental. Just setting up the tent and laying the wards made her tense up. With just those two things, she was already back—hiding out and on the run with Harry. In an attempt to calm herself, Hermione decided to meditate.

As the case with most Sentinels and Guides who were also magical beings, Hermione had developed a special relationship with her spirit animal. Many Muggle Sentinels and Guides struggled to accomplish what they called a Primal bond, but to magical beings—who could become Animagi—it was attainable with time and effort.

The first time Hermione had met her spirit animal, she had been confused. It was like no creature she’d ever seen in her life. She had combed through Scamander’s _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. She’d even called Luna over and begged her spirit animal to show itself to Luna. No one could figure out what it was.

With a deep breath, Hermione opened her eyes. Sitting in her tent across from her was a giant cat… thing—her spirit animal, Banrigh. Easily as big as a bear, and yet possessing obviously feline characteristics. She yawned widely, showing off an impressive array of teeth. She looked every inch the Queen of Cats that Harry claimed she was.

“Hey your majesty,” Hermione whispered. She glanced around the tent and sighed. “So, we’re in trouble.”

The cat-thing chuffed in agreement and rubbed her big head against Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione wrapped her arms around her spirit animal’s neck and cried. Her cat-thing made purring sorts of noises and Hermione hiccupped, pulling back and rubbing at her cheeks.

“Sorry. I just… I am going kill Smith when I get back,” Hermione grumbled. The cat-thing’s purring intensified.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The villagers were still not impressed with Hermione, but they seemed less suspicious of her. Children with watchful, wary eyes followed her all over the village. No one stopped her from getting water from the well. The children were useful. She tried to pick some type of berry, and one of the children had yelled and slapped the berry out of her hand. They dragged her to a different bush and pointed to a strange growth. The child picked the growth and ate it with exaggerated pleasure.

“Okay, so these are okay to eat,” she said with a smile and a nod. She picked one of the fruits and held it up. All the kids nodded. She took a cautious bite. “Oh! These are good!”

It was not quite a gooseberry. Delicious, but different. Hermione stripped the bush, filling a bowl from the tent. Berry-things were better than nothing.

As they neared the village, there was a strange sound, and all the children around her tensed up.

“What?” She demanded. “What is it?”

They all looked at one another and then faded into the bushes that surrounded the area.

“Hey!” She protested.

Hermione put down the bowl of berry-things and pulled out her wand. She crept closer to the village. There was an uncanny whining noise in the air, and she could hear the villagers scream something that sounded like _Larua_ over and over.

Quickly, she pulled her Unspeakable hood over her head and ran toward the village. When she reached the break line in the trees, she stopped, completely stunned. Horrific pale monsters darted among the villagers, and when one of them attacked a villager, they appeared to drain them of life. For whatever reason, the monsters reminded her of dementors.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” She shrieked and a glowing white version of Banrigh exploded from the tip of her wand. “Stop them!” She ordered, pointing at the pale monsters.

Most spells didn’t really seem to slow the monsters down. Hermione wasn’t stupid enough to try stunning them, but bombarda and the leg-locker jinx didn’t seem to work all that well. Were they impervious to magic? Hermione bit her lip and tightened her grip on her wand.

Banrigh appeared next to her, almost completely solid. She roared so loudly that the pale monsters all reacted. They hissed in something that sounded almost like Latin or Ancient Runes.

“ _Felis Satedis_ ,” one of the pale monsters snarled at Banrigh.

With another great roar, Banrigh began to attack the pale monsters. She managed to rip the head off one, and then she carried it over and dropped it on the ground at Hermione’s feet.

“Ew, Banrigh,” Hermione complained. Banrigh yowled and pawed at the head. “I have to take its head off?”

Another villager was sucked dry of life before Hermione managed to use _diffindo_ to decapitate the monsters that were attacking the village. The villagers gathered around her in a loose circle—only held back by Banrigh who snarled at everyone. Hermione put a hand on Banrigh’s shoulder. One of the villagers tried to say something. There was some smiling and nodding, and then they turned away.

At that, the villagers scattered. Hermione realized that they were packing up everything. She ran to her tent and took it down as quickly as she could. She packed everything into her beaded bag, pulled up her Unspeakable hood, and chased after the villagers.

They were all headed toward the large circle that she had seen upon her arrival. Now it glowed and blue rippled over the circle. Hermione stopped and stared at it. It looked rather a lot like a pool of psionic energy, but she could tell that it was not.

The children that had helped her pick the not-gooseberries were running with the other villagers, headed straight for the blue circle. She watched in horror as they flung themselves one after another through the circle. The children motioned to her and shouted. Banrigh seemed to have no fear of the circle at all. She bounded up to it and yowled at Hermione to hurry up.

“Oh gods,” Hermione groaned. She looked at Banrigh. “Do we have to?”

Banrigh growled and headbutted Hermione.

“Right. Okay. You can do this,” she muttered to herself.

Hermione took a deep breath and leapt through the blue circle.

 

 

 

 


	2. A Chance Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter on another planet introduces Hermione to her Sentinel. Contrary to everything she's ever been taught about Sentinels and Guides--he can't get away from her fast enough. Why is he avoiding her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going with the concept of the Stargate acting as a universal translator. 
> 
> Ronon Dex is a Runner *and* a Sentinel.

Sufficiently Advanced Technology

Chapter 2—A Chance Encounter

 

When Hermione came through the circle, the first thing that struck her was that the villagers were too calm. From her experiences during the War, she would have expected at least a few of the people to be crying or hysterical. There was a person or two that sniffled a bit, but that was it. Banrigh came to stand next to her, and the villagers all stared at her.

“Can you understand us now, Satedian?” One of the villagers asked.

Hermione blinked. “What?”

“Do our words make sense to you, now that you have come through the ring of the ancestors?” Another villager asked.

“I… I wish I could say yes,” Hermione admitted. “You’re speaking English, I think?”

“The ring of the ancestors lets people of different planets speak to one another,” the first villager explained.

“Planets?” Hermione squeaked.

“You are from Sateda, are you not?” The second villager pointed to Banrigh. “You have one of their great Battle Cats, which they never let off planet.”

Completely shocked, Hermione stared at Banrigh who chuffed at her.

“You’re an _alien_?” Hermione’s voice rose in agitation. “For weeks and weeks I combed through every single bestiary I could find! I contacted magizoologists all over the world! You—you—ugh!”

Banrigh head-butted her shoulder. Reluctantly, she patted Banrigh. Later—when they were alone—she was going to give her alien spirit guide the talking-to of a lifetime.

“Satedian.” The first villager eyed her suspiciously. “We will need to move. The wraith may come again.”

“The wraith,” Hermione repeated. “Is that what they’re called?” Hermione asked. All the villagers nodded. “How do the wraith… how do they… the people just seemed to waste away.”

“Wraith suck the life out of you with their feeding hands,” the first villager explained. He held his hand out and motioned to his palm.

“They _eat_ people?” Her stomach roiled in revulsion.

The second villager shook her head. “Wraith do not eat as people do.”

Banrigh snarled, exposing her fangs. Hermione patted her on the shoulder. “I agree completely, your majesty.”

“We must find shelter,” the villager explained. He paused and looked to the other villagers. “They seem to have a hard time penetrating stone with the darts.”

“So we’re looking for a cave system, or something similar?” Hermione suggested.

The other villagers nodded and smiled at her in relief.

“Yes, exactly so,” the second villager said with a nod.

“How will they come?” Hermione asked.

The second villager pointed to the circle—the ring of the ancestors. “They will use the ring, just as we do.”

“How?” Hermione asked with a little frown.

The villagers all seemed confused and upset, and Hermione was reminded strongly of their first meeting when she couldn’t understand their language.

“How can you not know how to use the ring of the ancestors?” One villager demanded.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Hermione confessed. She wrung her hands together.

“Were you hit on the head?” One of the children asked. He turned to the first villager—who Hermione assumed might be their leader. “Remember Silla?”

The villagers all frowned at her. The leader turned back to the child.

“It is possible,” the leader admitted. “You will show the Satedian how to use the ring while we look for shelter.”

The child nodded. As soon as the rest of the villagers had scattered, the child pulled her over to a small structure near the ring of the ancestors. He explained how the device worked, and Hermione listened carefully. There were carefully carved sigils around the outside, and the child explained how each planet— _each planet_ —had its own series of sigils.

This was… this was incredibly advanced technology and it was being used by nomadic refugees fleeing from nightmarish monsters who didn’t even have a cigarette lighter between them. Hermione could feel a dull headache beginning behind her left eye.

One of the sigils on the large circle lit up, and Hermione stepped forward in surprised curiosity. The child grabbed her robes and hauled her backwards.

“NO!” The child yelled. “You’ll get caught in the ringflare!” He tugged on her robes some more. “Come on, it could be the wraith!”

Hermione let the boy pull her towards the tree line, but then she stopped. If they _were_ wraith… well. She was a Guide, and she had a duty to the tribe—even if that tribe was from another planet. Innocents were innocents. She turned to the boy.

“Run and tell your village,” she ordered him. She pulled out her wand. The boy stared at her with solemn, too-wise eyes.

“Are you going to cut their heads off again?” He asked.

“If they’re wraith, yes I am,” Hermione admitted.

They were monsters in every sense of the word. Terrifying to look at, their emotions physically repulsed her. Hunger and avarice poured off them in sickening waves. Hermione touched the Occlumency ward around her neck that Harry had given her after she’d come online.

“Good,” the child said fiercely. He glanced at the ring and then ran in the direction the villagers had gone.

With a practiced flip, Hermione dropped her Unspeakable hood in place and lifted her wand. She saw what the boy meant earlier—as the ring activated it flared out and then fell back into a pool of energy. A single person stepped out of the ring, and Hermione’s world tilted on its edge. She fumbled with her hood before she managed to pull it off.

Standing on the steps was a huge man who looked as though he ought to be in a big budget post-apocalyptic movie. His hair was pulled back from his face in large dreadlocks. A leather duster covered most of him, and what appeared to be goggles rested on his forehead. He carried a large space blaster. Shock flowed off him followed quickly by disbelief and denial, and he stared at her with wide eyes.

“No,” he stated flatly. Hermione’s mouth dropped open.

“Excuse me?” She demanded indignantly.

He turned from her and walked over to the device and started pushing sigils.

“Hello?” Hermione stomped over to him. “You can’t just leave! I’m your bloody Guide!”

Her Sentinel turned to frown at her. “Don’t smell blood,” he muttered.

“Not bloody like that,” Hermione huffed. She waved a hand in front of his face. “Hey!”

The ring flared again and her Sentinel grunted. He turned to her and she saw him pause and swallow before he picked her up in his arms. It seemed to be ridiculously easy for him. He probably could have picked her up with one hand, but Hermione wasn’t going to complain about being pressed up against the wall of solid muscle that made up her Sentinel’s chest.

“What are you doing?” She demanded. She scowled up at him, but he refused to make eye contact. “Don’t you think we should talk first? You don’t even know me!”

Then her Sentinel tossed her through the ring. She landed on the other side of the ring in a graceless sprawl, but she kept hold of her wand. Banrigh leapt through the gate after her, prowling around her and sniffing at her. By the time she got to her feet, the ring had shut down. Hermione’s mouth dropped open and she stared through the ring to the other side, completely gobsmacked. What the hell had just happened?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Taking no chances, Hermione set up her camp in a secluded area and layered every protection she could think of over it. Why had her Sentinel tossed her through the gate? Why had he been so shocked to see her? For seven years, she had assumed that he was doing important work to protect his tribe. After seeing the wraith, she _knew_ that was true. The rest of it just confused and upset her.

“So.” Hermione sat cross-legged inside her tent. Banrigh sat across from her.

If a spirit animal could look embarrassed, Hermione suspected Banrigh would.

“You’re from Sateda.” Hermione paused and took a deep breath. “Which is a _planet_.”

Banrigh yowled mournfully. Hermione bit her lip and sighed heavily.

“Let me guess… culled by the wraith?”

A furious snarl.

“Okay. Why is my Sentinel being an arsehole of epic proportions?” Hermione demanded.

Banrigh chuffed and rubbed her big head against the side of Hermione’s face.

“You have no idea,” Hermione muttered. She wrapped her arms around Banrigh’s neck and sighed. “Right.”  

After a little surreptitious spying, Hermione discovered that the new planet appeared to have a bustling market town. She tried not to tense every time the ring of the ancestors opened, but she couldn’t help her reaction. She wasn’t even sure what she dreaded more—running into the wraith or her Sentinel.

A few well-placed Notice-me-not and Disillusionment Charms helped her navigate the market without attracting attention. It was much easier to listen in on conversations if no one knew you were there. What Hermione learned didn’t answer any of her questions, and only gave her new ones.

The people who frequented the market were a strange blend. Some of them would carry items that were beyond the technology of Earth, and yet none of them could explain how any of the technology worked. Hermione acknowledged that she couldn’t repair a toaster the Muggle way, but _no one_ here seemed to be able to do that. People seemed just as fascinated with broken technology as they were with pieces that did work. She had seen a few broken pieces made into jewellery.

Eventually, Hermione found a friendly trader who gave her a list of addresses to planets that did trading and had market towns. He warned her away from a couple of planets that had been recently _culled_. Hermione puzzled over the unfamiliar word. She bit her lip as things clicked into place: animal herds were _culled_ by predators. A wave of nausea swept over her. She hoped her arsehole Sentinel was killing _a lot_ of wraith wherever he was.

 

* * *

 

 

Migrating from planet to planet seemed to be common, but Hermione found a few settled groups of people. She also found what she privately called _dead_ planets. Those planets usually had evidence of complex civilizations and she wandered through the ruins of majestic cities with her wand out and her Unspeakable hood on.

There was probably a time in her life that Hermione would have turned her nose up at scavenging, but needs must and all that. Quite a few groups seemed leery of the dead planets; they appeared to perceive going to them —or collecting anything from them—as though by doing so it would call the wraith to them.

Some of the technology had been fascinating, and Hermione had taken careful notes of all the addresses of the more interesting planets. Several times, she had found technology similar to the pieces that had been in storage room M18.

“Hmm.” Hermione turned the small egg-shaped thing in her hands. It hummed with interactive magic. “A nightlight?”

The little piece of technology pulled at her, but she kept a tight rein on her magic. She patted it soothingly and put it in her beaded bag. Who knew when it might be useful?

Slowly and carefully, Hermione had earned enough of a name for herself that she was able to trade for a sword. It was perfectly balanced and well-made, a perfect weapon for a Sentinel. Harry would have loved one, so she hoped that her arsehole Sentinel would as well. Maybe he’d talk to her next time.

As luck would have it, after she purchased the sword, she ran into wraith again. The sword worked just as well as she had hoped it would and then she carried the sword strapped to her back for weeks.

 

* * *

 

 

It was on a dead planet when she saw him again. He was striding through the ruins of some forgotten city, headed straight for her. She straightened up from the abandoned market stall she was examining and scowled at him.

“You!” She pointed at him angrily. “You arrogant poncey git! Where have you been?”

“You need to leave,” he growled at her.

“Leave? Leave! I got here first. _You_ leave,” she snapped.

“Now.” The growl intensified.

“I am your Guide,” Hermione protested.

Frustration bubbled within her. Not even Harry at his most obtuse and self-destructive had _ever_ done this to Draco. He had told her that Draco was gift from the gods, and he couldn’t profane that.

“Wraith are coming,” he barked at her.

“Wraith always come,” Hermione retorted. She hadn’t been here long, but even she knew that. She unbuckled the sword scabbard.

“What are you doing? You’ll need that!” The Sentinel growled.

“I’ve got my own weapon,” Hermione retorted. She held out the sword and scabbard.

The Sentinel stared at the sword in her hands and then glowered at her.

“If I take it, will you leave?” He asked.

Hermione took a deep breath and fought for control. She was not crying in front of this arsehole Sentinel. She was _not_.

“I’ll leave,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

Cautiously, as though she were an enemy, he took the sword from her. Then he nodded at the ring of the ancestors.

“Go.”

“Fine.” Hermione turned and stomped toward the ring. “Fine, I’m going.”

Punching the sigils around the outside of the device furiously, Hermione opened the ring to a world that a trader had told her about a month ago. The ring flared and fell back into a glowing, blue pool. She took several deep breaths before turning to face her Sentinel again.

The Sentinel froze. “ _Go_.”

Turning away from him and stepping through the ring was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Every few months she would run into her Sentinel—always on the dead, culled worlds—and every time, he would make her leave. It was agonizing torture to be that close to him and know that her presence—let alone her touch—was unwelcome.

It made her somewhat short-tempered.

“I AM A GODDAMN TREASURE!” She bellowed at him the fifth time she saw him. “SENTINELS HAVE BEGGED ME TO CHOOSE THEM!”

The Sentinel’s fingers twitched on his space gun. “You should have chosen one of them,” he countered. He pointed at the ring with his blaster. “Go.”

After that, Hermione avoided the dead worlds when she could. It hurt too much to be rejected every time she saw her Sentinel. The worst part of it was that she could feel him reaching for her—even if he didn’t realize what was happening. It was like being pulled toward him and being pushed away at the same time. It left her feeling disorientated and confused.

The settled worlds made Hermione uneasy. As a witch, she was naturally different from the average human. She knew that she stood out, and if the wraith appeared, she would stand out even more.

So far, she’d only come across a few at a time, but she knew that they could travel in larger numbers. The wraith she had encountered thus far had not lived long enough to tell anyone about the strange human who could cut off their heads with her little wooden stick, and Hermione planned to keep it that way.

The planet with the almost-apples was a favourite of hers, and Hermione visited them on a regular basis. The people were polite and willing to trade with her for almost-apple pastries that were heavenly.

“Hermione!” A small group of children called her name excitedly.

“Hello,” she called out to them and waved her hand in greeting.

“There are traders visiting,” a little girl name Liyelle confided in her.

Hermione grinned at that. “Here for some of your delicious _griappas_?”

“I think so,” Liyelle agreed solemnly. Then she grinned at Hermione. “But don’t worry! The Matriarch has kept back some pies for you.”

“The Matriarch is a kind and generous leader,” Hermione said with a laugh.

The traders were dressed all in black, which was unusual. It was difficult to get that much cloth all dyed the same colour. They appeared to have guns, which might have surprised Hermione, but she had seen several cultures that had guns or something similar to them. They were all right, but nothing beat a good _diffindo_ , or a sword, for killing wraith.

When the ring of the ancestors engaged, Hermione flicked her wrist, snapping her wand to her hand. A strange noise filled the air, and Hermione frowned. The traders all tensed and the villagers stood up in surprise.

“Darts,” screamed a young man who had been set to watch the ring. “Wraith darts!”

Hermione swallowed thickly. Perhaps it was time to see if some of the spells she’d been practicing would work on a dart—whatever that was.

 

* * *

 

 

The odd little spaceships made Hermione’s skin crawl. The first time she saw a culling beam take someone, her mouth went dry and instinct took over. She gripped her wand tightly and began casting at the darts.

“ _Bombarda maxima_!” Hermione chanted as her wand slid in patterns she could follow in her sleep. “ _Confringo_!”

Watching the wraith dart explode was infinitely satisfying, but Hermione redoubled her efforts on the rest of them. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw a wraith reach out and grab Liyelle. Moving swiftly, she began casting.

“ _Relashio_!” She cried and almost sobbed in relief when the wraith released the child and stumbled back a few feet. Taking careful aim, she cast again. “ _Diffindo_!”

The wraith’s head separated from his body and rolled along the ground.

The traders were giving their own accounting, and Hermione tried to make certain that her spellfire stayed clear of them. Finally, the last wraith dropped lifelessly to the ground. Liyelle launched herself at Hermione who caught her easily. She patted the child on the head and murmured soothing nothings.

“Thank you,” Liyelle chanted over and over again.

“It’s alright, love,” Hermione told her. “They’re gone.”

“That was some mighty fine wraith-killing,” one of the traders announced with a small nod. “Uh, can all of your people do that?”

Hermione blinked at the trader. “My people?”

One of the other traders grimaced sympathetically. “Were they culled?”

“If they could do that?” Another trader snorted. “I bet they were first on the list.”

There was something about the traders that seemed familiar. They were almost Earth-like in their behaviour and mannerisms. It was jarring when she knew that she was on a different planet who knew where.

“My people aren’t here.” It was as close to the truth as Hermione could give.

“Bummer,” sighed one of the traders.

“Yeah, we could really kick some wraith ass with a few hundred of you,” the first trader said with an admiring glance.

In the end, Hermione received an extra few pies for her help with the wraith, and she fled through the ring. For days afterward the strange traders dogged her thoughts. If she hadn’t known that it was utterly impossible, she would have guessed that they were Yanks. But that was silly. How on earth could Yanks get out here?


	3. Yanks in the Pegasus Galaxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is stunned to find out that there really are Yanks running around. She's also pretty surprised to learn that she's in another galaxy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lt. Kemp is a minor, background character on Stargate: Atlantis. He is not an OC.

Sufficiently Advanced Technology

Chapter 3—Yanks in the Pegasus Galaxy

 

 

 

 

There were a couple of planets that made Hermione uneasy. She couldn’t quite explain what it was about them, or why they made her skin prickle, but they did. One of those was called Belkan. Hermione reluctantly went there to trade for magical plants. The first time she had seen Dittany, she’d been shocked, and then she’d tried to buy all they had.

Belkan had a bustling trading post that held regular market days. Hermione pulled what she needed out of her beaded bag, and made a neat package to carry around market square so that she wouldn’t attract undue attention.

Some of the rituals involved in trading reminded her painfully of home. There was an amazon-like woman with skin the colour of burnished teak who sat cross-legged on a pillow and offered Hermione the closest thing she’d had to tea in a long while. They sat in companionable silence while the tea steeped, and Hermione took a delicate sip with an appreciative sigh. The trader grinned, her teeth a flash of brilliant white in her face.

“There are not many who enjoy _che’lit_ the way my people do,” the trader commented.

“My people have a similar drink,” Hermione explained with a small smile. “We all take a break in the afternoon to enjoy it in a manner similar to this.”

“Ah.” The trader nodded. She tilted her head to the side. “Would you care for a small packet of _che’lit_ with the rest of your trade goods?”

“That would be lovely,” Hermione agreed happily.

The rest of the market day was mostly uneventful, and Hermione risked having a meal at a small pub. The stew tasted a little odd, but Hermione thought it might be the herbs used. She had found the spices one of the more difficult things to adjust to in this new migrant life. She smacked her lips together and frowned. Perhaps the stew was off? Maybe she should tell the publican?

 

* * *

 

 

The first thing that Hermione realized was that she was not sleeping in her tent. Even during the War, when the mattresses had been lumpy and faintly musty, they hadn’t been this hard. The second thing that Hermione realized was that her head ached badly, and that her arms were restrained. The third thing that Hermione realized was that she couldn’t feel her wand’s comforting presence in the wandholder she wore strapped to her arm. Her eyes snapped open and a man peering down at her jerked back in surprise.

“Hi,” he offered.

Cautiously, Hermione thinned her shields and spread out her senses. The man sitting across from her was watching her warily; he felt curious, worried, and anxious in equal amounts. There were four others nearby who mostly felt worried and anxious. Hermione guessed that they were prisoners just as she was. She took a deep breath and tried to press even further. There was a knot of excitement and idolatry that Hermione hadn’t felt since the last time she’d brushed against a Death Eater who tried to kill Harry. She shuddered in revulsion.

“Shit,” the man muttered. He reached out with one hand. “Lady, are you okay?”

“Don’t touch me!” Hermione panicked and her voice rose to a near shriek.

“Not touching!” The man held up both hands and stared at her with wide eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Well, I’m tied up and trapped in a cell, so I’m going to go with no,” Hermione grumbled as she attempted to sit up.

The man blinked at her in surprise. “You sound British,” he said slowly.

Hermione gawked at the man. “Well, you sound like a Yank,” she countered.

“Holy shit! Where did you come from?” He demanded.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she replied flatly. “How did a Yank end up here?”

“I came through a Stargate,” he said drily.

“A what?” Hermione asked.

“Big metal-looking circle thing. Lights up and goes whoosh?” The man gave her a once over and frowned. “Now how about you?”

“My idiot co-worker thought it would be a great idea to take the stasis field off of a project created by Janus of Atlantis,” Hermione informed him.

“Ouch.” The man winced. Hermione frowned.

“Ouch?” She repeated.

“Yeah, Janus’ projects always blow up in the worst ways,” the man commiserated.

“You know Janus?” Hermione demanded.

The man shrugged. “Well, I don’t _know_ him. He’s been dead for ten thousand years. But we’ve run into his projects before.”

“How would you—are you from MACUSA?” Hermione demanded.

“MACUSA?” His eyebrows shot up and he stared at her. “I’ve never heard of that one.” He frowned. “It’s not a Trust thing, is it?”

Suspiciousness and wariness radiated off him. Hermione shook her head.

“Okay, so you aren’t from MACUSA,” she muttered to herself. She wasn’t sure what trust had to do with anything, but he was obviously unfamiliar with MACUSA. He was probably a Muggle. Something occurred to her and she frowned at him. “Why aren’t you tied up?”

The man shrugged and flushed. “It’s not like they used zip ties or anything. They also haven’t bothered to check on me since they threw me in here a couple of days ago. They throw some food in here about once a day, I think.”

Slowly and carefully, she tried to feel the bindings around her wrists. The rough fibres felt like rope. Hermione took a deep breath and concentrated. During the War, Harry had become slightly paranoid about Hermione being taken or locked up. He had researched every mouldy book at Grimmauld Place looking for spells that would help someone escape restraints. He had insisted that Hermione, and later Draco, practice them wandlessly and non-verbally in case they had been gagged or cursed mute.

The rope slowly loosened until Hermione was able to work her hands free. With a triumphant cry, she held up the piece of rope. The man sitting across from her cleared his throat, but she thought she saw his lips twitch.

“I didn’t even think to ask,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. “What’s your name?”

“Kemp, ma’am,” He replied. He paused and shrugged. “Lieutenant Kemp.”

“Hermione Granger,” she offered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, _Lieutenant_ ,” she said struggling to wrap her lips around the American pronunciation.

“You Brits are as bad as the Canadians,” he grumbled at her.

“Are you with the other people being held here?” Hermione asked.

Kemp shook his head. “No. I was…,” he sighed and rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “My gate team got ambushed, and I made sure that the Guide on our team got back through the gate safely.”

“You’re not a Sentinel,” Hermione stated with calm assurance.

“No,” Kemp agreed. “But if I’d let a Guide get hurt in the field, the Colonel would have had my head.”

“Right,” Hermione muttered. She blew out a breath and looked Kemp in the eye. “So, if you could keep calm, that would be lovely.”

“Keep calm?” Both of Kemp’s eyebrows rose in the air.

“Banrigh?” Hermione called.

The large spirit animal appeared in their cell with a grumble.

“Holy shit,” Kemp swore. He stared at her. “You’re a _Guide_?”

“It’s so much worse than that,” Hermione told him with an apologetic smile. She turned to her spirit guide. “Can you find my wand? Don’t show yourself to anyone. There are… it feels like Death Eaters, but that can’t be right.”

Banrigh chuffed and rubbed her big head against the side of Hermione’s face.

“What the hell was that?” Kemp demanded as Banrigh faded from sight.

“My Alpha liked to call her the Queen of Cats,” Hermione said with a shrug of her shoulders. “I found out that she’s native to a culled world here.”

“Your spirit guide is a Pegasus native?” Kemp asked with open curiosity. “So your Sentinel is a Pegasus native, too?”

“Pegasus?” Hermione repeated. She tilted her head and frowned at Kemp. “What do you mean, Pegasus?”

“The Pegasus Galaxy,” Kemp elaborated. He gestured around them. “Where we’re stuck right now?”

“Ah.” Hermione was glad that she was sitting down. “That explains quite a lot.”

“Listen, Guide Granger, we need to get you out of here.” The level of stress coming off Kemp had ratcheted up in the last couple of moments, and Hermione had attributed it to Banrigh—she tended to have that effect on people.

“How do you propose we do that, Lieutenant Kemp?” Hermione asked.

“These _people_ ,” Kemp sneered as he spat out the word. “They’re wraith-worshippers.”

“I beg your pardon?” Hermione blinked at him.

“They think the wraith are immortal gods. They’re planning on _feeding_ us to them,” he explained in a rush.

“Well that’s not going to happen,” Hermione said flatly. She gestured to the walls. “Are they food, too?”

“We all are, yeah,” Kemp replied.

At that point, Banrigh trotted back with Hermione’s wand held carefully in her teeth.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Hermione sighed. She took her wand from Banrigh and rubbed her ears. “And you too, your Majesty.”

Hermione took her wand in hand and inspected it. The wraith-worshippers hadn’t damaged it, as near as she could tell. There were a couple of teeth marks from Banrigh, but that went with the territory of being a witch and a Guide. She pointed her wand at the cell door.

“ _Alohamora_ ,” she murmured. There was an audible click.

The door swung open when Hermione pushed on it.

“What the hell was that?” Kemp demanded.

“Magic, Lieutenant Kemp,” Hermione replied. She looked him over with a little frown. “We’re still at the keeping calm portion of this escape plan. Can you carry on?”

“But… _magic_?” Kemp protested. “The Colonel is going to make me do a psych eval when I turn my report in! And _McKay_. Jesus, he’ll laugh his ass off at me, and then accuse me of lying.”

“McKay?” Hermione repeated.

“Dr. Rodney McKay,” Kemp explained. “He’s our Chief Science Officer.”

“Well,” Hermione said slowly as she mulled the problem. “Tell them that… I used technology that was sufficiently advanced enough that it might as well have been magic.”

“It’s not though, is it?” Kemp sounded disheartened. He seemed to slump where he was sitting.

“Do you read Shakespeare, Lieutenant Kemp?” Hermione asked.

“Not really, ma’am.” Kemp shrugged.

“Well, there’s time later for that, I suppose,” Hermione decided. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Sure, why not?” Kemp muttered.

It was quick work to release the other prisoners. Hermione touched each of them with her mind briefly to make sure they weren’t decoys set by the wraith-worshippers.

“Can you lot drop to the ground when I say?” Hermione asked the recently-freed prisoners. All four of them gave her confused looks. Hermione sighed and dropped to the floor, laying herself as flat as possible. “Like this? Can you do this?”

“Yes,” one of the prisoners said with a small frown. “But why?”

“If there are wraith, I can kill them, but I would hate to hit you by mistake,” Hermione warned them.

“Do you have a gun?” Kemp asked eagerly.

“No guns,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. She held up her wand. “Just this.”

“Shit,” Kemp gritted out. “They took mine.”

“Hang on,” Hermione told him. She flicked and swished. “ _Accio_ Lieutenant Kemp’s weapons.”

A small pile of weapons came sailing around the corner a few moments later. Hermione levitated them over to Kemp who was staring at her open-mouthed.

“Sufficiently advanced technology,” Kemp muttered under his breath. “I swear, Dr. McKay, it was sufficiently advanced technology.”

Hermione snorted and shook her head. “Come on. I imagine they won’t wait long to call the wraith.”

Sometimes, being the brightest witch of her age was a pain in the arse. Once they managed to reach the ring of the ancestors, the wraith-worshippers were indeed welcoming a group of wraith. Hermione automatically cast a disillusionment charm on all of them.

“You can take them all out from here?” Kemp whispered to her from somewhere on her left.

“Not without hitting the wraith-worshippers, too,” Hermione confessed with a sigh.

“Take the shot,” Kemp insisted. “Those wraith-worshippers are hard-core fanatics. There’s no reasoning with them.”

“All right,” Hermione agreed. The same was true of Death Eaters. They might not _be_ Voldemort, but they were just as dangerous. She took a deep breath. “Everyone stay behind me.” Her wand slashed through the air as she bellowed. “ _DIFFINDO MAXIMA_!”

The heads of the wraiths and the wraith-worshippers rolled about on the ground in front of the ring of the ancestors.

“Holy shit,” Kemp breathed from her left. He turned to stare at her with wide eyes. “Ooh-rah, ma’am.”

“Just remember, sufficiently advanced technology, Lieutenant Kemp,” Hermione reminded him.

The freed prisoners were sent through first, leaving Kemp alone with Hermione. He shuffled his feet and shifted his gun in his arms.

“You could come with me, ma’am,” he suggested. “We’ve got a few folks that we’ve picked up along the way.”

“I appreciate the thought, Lieutenant, but I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” Hermione explained with a wince.

“Because of the, um, the sufficiently advanced technology?” He guessed

“The short answer is yes,” Hermione explained with a faint smile.

“What’s the long answer?” Kemp asked curiously.

“My country signed the 1689 Statute of Secrecy. When the US joined the ICW they also signed the Statute, but their execution of the Statute is… more stringent than ours,” Hermione explained.

“The ICW?” Both of Kemp’s eyebrows slid up his forehead.

“The International Confederation of Wizards. Misogynist tossers,” she added under her breath.

“And MACUSA?” Kemp asked.

“The Magical Congress of the United States of America.” Hermione smiled at his shell-shocked expression. “But you didn’t hear any of that from me. I’d rather not be censured by MACUSA.”

“Right. Okay,” Kemp muttered faintly. He shook his head. “Ma’am, I can’t just… you’re a _Guide_.”

“Think of me as Guide plus,” Hermione suggested. She walked over to the control device and punched in the series of sigils for a dead world.

Once the ring of the ancestors had activated, Hermione backed up and concentrated on her Animagus form. There was a muffled curse as she transformed into what she now knew was a Satedian Battle cat. She bowed politely to Kemp whose mouth was opening and closing in shock. She bounded for the ring of the ancestors and leapt through it, letting it close behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

After Hermione’s first interaction with wraith-worshippers, she kept an eye out for the black-uniformed Yanks. She saw them only rarely, as they appeared to go to different planets as a general rule.

From the moment she’d woken up that day, she’d felt off kilter, and she wondered if maybe she should just stay in her tent and take a lazy day. Unfortunately, her little tea tin was empty, which meant she needed to go to Khethan to get more tea.

The final thing that pushed her over the edge was that when she stepped through the ring of the ancestors, her Sentinel was standing near the sigil device with a group of Yanks. Her nostrils flared and she could feel her magic swirl within her.

“You!” She snapped furiously and pointed a finger at him. “Not a bloody word! I do not want to hear it today.”

Then she turned and marched off toward the market stalls, letting her fury carry her. She hoped her hair wasn’t sparking as it wasn’t the most subtle thing in the world.

A group of Yanks trailed her through the market being far less stealthy than they thought they were. Hermione made her way to her favourite trader who carried _che'lit_. She bowed and made polite conversation about the weather and the likelihood of a good tava bean harvest. As soon as their tea time was finished, she left with a large packet of tea tucked into her robes. She took her time, ignoring the Yanks.

When she finally returned to the ring of the ancestors, her Sentinel was still standing where she’d left him. He looked different. The duster was gone, but it was more than that. He seemed… lighter somehow. She stalked past him and his silent group of Yanks to begin punching sigils.

“Wait.”

Her spine stiffened and she spun on her heel to glare at him with all of the rage and hurt that had been stewing in her for months. Soft gasps probably meant that her hair was crackling the way it normally did when she was upset.

“I beg your pardon?” She scoffed. “Isn’t this usually where you pick me up and toss me through the ring?”

“Don’t need to,” he muttered.

Hermione could feel her eyes widened and she was so furious that, for the first time in her life, she transformed without meaning to do so. She stalked forward while her Sentinel stood stock still. She could hear strange noises from the Yanks, but one of them held up his hand and barked a command.

“Stand down!” A man with incredibly messy hair reminiscent of Harry yelled.

She opened her mouth, showing off her teeth and roared in her Sentinel’s face.

“Ronon?” The messy haired man asked drily. “Something you want to share with the class?”

“I found my Guide while I was a Runner,” her Sentinel said while he kept eye contact with her. “I tried to stay away from her. She’s kind of angry about that.”

There was a snort from somewhere behind Hermione.

“Okay.” The messy-haired man blinked slowly. “And the fact that she can turn into uh… whatever that is.”

“It’s a Satedian Battle cat,” her Sentinel replied. He swallowed hard. “The wraith killed them all.”

“Apparently not,” somebody muttered.

“No.” Her Sentinel shook his head. “My family had three. They never… they weren’t able to shift form.”

“Uh, hello Ronon’s Guide, I’m Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard,” The messy-haired man introduced himself cautiously. “Can you, erm, can you switch back?”

With a huff, Hermione shook her head. She was far too upset to change back on her own, and she wasn’t certain when she’d be able to calm down enough to transform back.

“Well, shit,” Lt. Colonel Sheppard sighed and shook his head. “Rodney’s never going to let me leave the City without him ever again.”


	4. Détente

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Ronon explain the choices he made as a Runner? Will Hermione be able to accept those choices?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The science of Atlantis meets the magic of Earth.

Sufficiently Advanced Technology

Chapter 4--Détente

 

 

There was no place for panicking when one was stuck in the Pegasus galaxy. If she had been at home with people she trusted, she probably would have given in to panic, trusting that Harry and Draco and the rest of their pride would help and support her. But here… there was no one that understood how Transfiguration worked. Certainly none of these people understood what an Animagus was.

The one time that Harry had transformed without meaning to, he had gone feral because Draco had been hit by a stray spell and Harry could smell his blood. He wouldn’t let the Healers near Draco, and it had taken both Draco and Hermione working together projecting all the soothing and calming thoughts they could on Harry to allow her close enough to perform some basic healing spells on Draco. Even then, it had taken them almost two days to calm Harry down enough so that he could transform back.

“Hey.” Her Sentinel squatted down so that they were eye-to-eye. His guilt flowed over her like a wave, followed closely by his longing. He glanced toward the Yanks and then back to her. “Colonel Sheppard says that you can come to Atlantis.”

Hermione tilted her chin up and looked away from him and the group of people clustered by the sigil device. Should she just go with him? She was a Guide and he was her Sentinel. According to stacks of books back home, they belonged together.

“Please.” It was whispered so softly that Hermione could barely hear it. She turned back to look her Sentinel in the eye. She huffed at him. “Please come with me,” he said much louder.

Gathering her tattered dignity to her, she padded over to Colonel Sheppard and sat next to him. Then she looked back at her Sentinel and tilted her head. The Colonel snorted.

“Looks like she’s going to make you work for it, Ronon,” the Colonel said with a slight smile.

Her Sentinel shrugged. “I made her leave me on a lot of planets.”

The Colonel stared at her Sentinel for a long moment. “Rodney’s probably going to help her make your life miserable. You know that, right?”

“Guides often stick together,” her Sentinel said with a shrug.

The Colonel snorted. “I almost feel sorry for you.”

One of the Yanks pressed the sigils and Colonel Sheppard explained to someone that they were bringing a special guest and the Marines were not to shoot the guest. Everyone went through the ring of the ancestors. Finally, the Colonel gestured to the ring.

“After you, ma’am,” he said with a little grin.

With a lifted chin, Hermione padded through the ring with her Sentinel and the Colonel following behind her. She arrived in a well-organized camp where she could feel the stares of the military people staffing it. As she looked around curiously she noticed someone she recognized. She trotted over to Lieutenant Kemp and sat down in front of him. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Hello again, ma’am,” he greeted her politely.

“You know Ronon’s Guide, Lieutenant?” The Colonel asked with a small frown.

“Yes, sir. She’s the other prisoner from my report, sir,” Lieutenant Kemp explained.

The Colonel’s frown deepened. “The one that used some kind of fancy tech to kill all the wraith and the wraith-worshippers?”

“Well sir,” Lieutenant Kemp began only to trail off. He swallowed hard and avoided eye contact with his commanding officer. “You kind of have to see it to believe it, sir.”

“So it’s something more than her turning into some kind of giant cougar-bobcat thing?” There was a thread of steel that went through the Colonel’s voice that made the Lieutenant pale slightly.

“Would you have believed me if that’s what I had put in my report, sir? Or would you have signed me up for a psych eval?” Lt. Kemp asked with an earnest expression. He waved a hand at Hermione. “This is a little hard to believe even when you’ve seen it, sir.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Colonel Sheppard agreed slowly. “But incomplete reports could put other teams at risk.” He frowned at Lieutenant Kemp. “Next time, risk the psych eval.”

“Yes, sir,” Lt. Kemp agreed with an unhappy expression.

“And her name?” Colonel Sheppard asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Guide Hermione Granger, sir,” Lt. Kemp murmured.

“Right,” Colonel Sheppard nodded. He frowned at Hermione. “That’s an Earth name. How did you get here?”

“Um, she said that it was one of Janus’ projects, sir,” Lt. Kemp explained.

The Colonel’s face flushed and he levelled a glare at Lt. Kemp.

“That wasn’t in your report, either, Lieutenant,” The Colonel growled.

“Sir, the explanation is really far-fetched, sir,” Lt. Kemp replied miserably.

“I’d love to hear it, Lieutenant,” The Colonel snapped.

“Magic, sir,” Lt. Kemp said.

The Colonel took several deep breaths in and out and scowled at a place above Lt. Kemp’s shoulder.

“You are lucky I’m a Sentinel,” the Colonel growled finally. “At least I know you’re telling the truth.”

“There was a long explanation about some Statute of Secrecy and some Magical Congress and… well, sir, it was all a bit much,” Lt. Kemp explained.

“Jesus,” the Colonel muttered. He frowned at Hermione. “What am I going to do with you?”

It was automatic for her to look to her Sentinel who was standing and listening intently with a frown on his face.

“I stay with her,” he informed the Colonel in a flat voice.

“Of course,” the Colonel agreed. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Just when I think the Pegasus galaxy can’t get any weirder.”

“She’s from _your_ galaxy,” her Sentinel reminded Colonel Sheppard.

“Not helping, Ronon,” the Colonel grumbled. He sighed and shook his head. “Fine. Fine. Let’s take her to Atlantis.”

A startled noise escaped her—a cross between a chuff and a squeak. The Colonel grinned at her.

“Lt. Kemp left out the best part, huh?” He nodded to the Lieutenant with approval. “Let’s go then.”

 

* * *

 

 

Walking down the ramp into Atlantis was like being back in storage room M18, but multiplied exponentially. Hermione froze on the ramp as the _city_ itself reached out to her. There was a sense of being examined, measured, and her presence being noted. There was also a sense of protectiveness over the people that were already there. It was the oddest feeling—almost like trying to use someone else’s wand. It would suffer her presence, but it didn’t recognize her as an accepted wielder.

“You okay?” Her Sentinel hovered near her, oozing worry and concern.

She continued gingerly down the ramp. She hesitated, one paw in the air before stepping off onto the actual city. Finally, she gingerly set her paw onto the smooth surface of the city. The city’s presence pressed on her mind, but she gently pushed back, batting it away.

“What the hell, Sheppard,” an irritated-looking man blustered as he marched into the room. He waved a hand in Hermione’s direction. “What is _that_?”

“My Guide,” her Sentinel replied.

“ _What_?” The man blinked and turned to Colonel Sheppard. “John, is this a joke?”

“I saw it happen with my own eyes,” Colonel Sheppard said to the irritated-looking man. He patted him on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Rodney.”

“Fine? We have a giant mountain lion in the gate room and that’s _fine_?” Rodney—she assumed he must be the famous Dr. McKay that Lt. Kemp had mentioned—blinked at Colonel Sheppard. “We clearly have different definitions of ‘fine,’ Sentinel.”

“I couldn’t make Ronon leave his Guide behind again,” Colonel Sheppard protested.

“Again?” Rodney leapt on that word and turned to frown at her Sentinel. “You left your Guide _behind_?”

“I was a Runner,” her Sentinel explained in a calm voice. “It was dangerous.”

Rodney snorted and muttered, “not as dangerous as leaving your Guide behind.” He sighed and frowned at Hermione. “I suppose you’d like your own room for the moment?”

“Technically she should be in quarantine so the doctors can look her over,” Colonel Sheppard reminded him.

“Right. Yes,” Rodney agreed. He waved a hand at Hermione. “When you’re bipedal, come find me.”

The city eagerly showed Hermione where the medical bay was, and even marked out the section set aside for quarantine. Hermione turned in the direction and began to pad toward a set of doors.

“Guide Granger?” Colonel Sheppard called out to her. “Keep your Sentinel or a Marine with you at all times.”

With a loud sigh, Hermione turned to glare at her Sentinel who walked over to her side. She turned and continued on with her Sentinel following silently.

 

* * *

 

 

It took three days in quarantine before Hermione had calmed down enough to transform back. In that time, every member of the Atlantis pride had checked in on her. Her Sentinel had hovered on the periphery, watching everyone and everything that came anywhere near her, but not coming near her himself. Hermione turned so that her back was to the door, not that it had helped—she could still feel him mentally reaching out to her.

On the fourth day, she had woken to hands and feet and her impossibly curly, bushy hair. From that point on, the doctors had taken over. They had poked and prodded at her, and then frowned at their medical scanners.

“What is it?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“I need to speak to the Colonel,” the doctor muttered.

About an hour later, Hermione was carefully ushered into a conference room filled with people she didn’t know except for Colonel Sheppard, Dr. Rodney McKay, and her Sentinel. The presiding doctor stood up and cleared her throat.

“It’s… this is the strongest natural expression of the ATA gene we’ve ever seen,” the doctor said with a huff. She frowned at her scanner. “But there are anomalies we’ve never seen before. I don’t know what they mean.”

“Those are Atlantean devices?” Hermione asked.

The doctor looked to Colonel Sheppard who gave her a nod. “Yes, they are.”

“If I may?” She asked curiously. With a slight smirk the doctor handed over the scanner.

“It’s all in Ancient,” the doctor said with a shrug.

Relief swamped Hermione as she looked over the scanner readouts. A comforting, familiar series of numbers appeared next to equally familiar runes.

“Oh,” she said with a sigh. “That’s all normal.”

“I beg your pardon?” The doctor scoffed.

“You can read that?” Rodney’s voice rose above the doctor’s. Hermione turned to him and blinked.

“Of course. It’s Ancient Runes. This rune is for my blood pressure. This one is for my heart rate. These show vitamin levels,” Hermine continued on, pointing out the individual runes.”

“What are the anomalies then?” Rodney demanded.

“This one shows my status—just barely over the line for Magus. This one here shows that my core reserve is at 63%, which isn’t great but I suppose it’s to be expected, considering,” Hermione explained. She pointed to the final rune. “That’s just a warning that I have defensive amulets, and that the Healer should use all safety protocols if I’m unconscious.”

“What?” Dr. McKay sputtered helplessly.

“I’m a witch, Dr. McKay,” she told him with an apologetic smile. “I was told you wouldn’t like that, but it is the truth.”

“A witch?” Her Sentinel spoke to her for the first time in days. “What does that mean?”

“It means that I can do magic,” Hermione replied. She flicked out her wrist and her wand slid into her hand.

Everyone around the table tensed and she rolled her eyes. She pointed her wand at the empty glass in front of her.

“ _Aguamenti_ ,” she murmured. Water streamed from her wand into the glass. She looked around the table. “I could provide further demonstrations, but they would be better outside, I think.”

“Magic,” Dr. McKay muttered with a frown. He stared at her with an intensity that made her shift in her seat. “You can read Ancient.”

“It was my best subject at school,” she said with a proud smile. “I got my first Mastery in Ancient Runes.”

“Mastery?” Dr. McKay’s eyebrows went up and his gaze intensified. “What is a Mastery?”

“Most magical communities where I am from observe the apprentice system, Dr. McKay,” Hermione explained. She paused and chewed on her lower lip. “The average for a full Mastery is about seven years. I received mine in five years. My second Mastery was in Arithmancy, but a good grounding in Ancient Runes helped me enormously and I studied for it at the same time. I’m working on a third Mastery when I have the time.”

“I… see,” Dr. McKay murmured. “What is Arithmancy?”

“It’s the mathematics needed to accurately calculate magical variables – a kind of magical calculus, if you will,” Hermione replied promptly.

One of the other people at the table, a slender man with glasses, shoved a piece of paper at her.

“What would you make of this?” He asked curiously.

Hermione examined the paper carefully. She could feel her eyebrows rise up her forehead in shock.

“This is extraordinary.” She snatched a pen up from the table and began to write Arithmantic equations next to the relevant expressions. She looked up at the man with glasses with a feeling of profound respect. “This is… this is absolute genius. You’ve used a brilliant combination of differential calculus and non-Euclidian geometry in combination with your own cobbled together maths to compensate for Arithmantic equations.”

“Is Rodney,” the man with the glasses sighed with an Easter European accent. His shoulders slumped and he shook his head. “Now there will be no living with him.”

When she turned to face Dr. McKay, she could sense that he was pleased and proud that she recognized the work he had done, but she felt that pride was justified. The mathematical proofs he had invented were breath-taking in their beauty and simplicity. She held out the piece of paper to him.

“I’ve included the Arithmantic equations we would normally use in those specific instances,” she explained with a polite smile. He frowned at the paper for a moment.

“What would you use this equation for,” he demanded.

Hermione peered at the paper. “Ah. Those are probability calculations for the energy required to power a keystone.” She inscribed the Ancient Rune for ‘keystone’ above the equation.

Dr. McKay made a spluttering, choking sound. He pointed to the Ancient Rune for keystone.

“You use ZedPMs!” He pointed a finger at her.

“I beg your pardon?” Hermione looked at the Colonel for help.

“Could you charge a, what did you call it, a keystone?” The Colonel asked her with an intent expression.

“Not by myself,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. “It usually takes an entire coven to charge a keystone. It’s considered a greater magic.”

“Hmm.” The Colonel made a note on the tablet in front of him. “My other concern is that the city would allow you unlimited access as a gene carrier.”

Hermione snorted at that, and the Colonel frowned at her. He leaned back in his chair.

“I’m sorry, Colonel Sheppard,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to be rude; it’s just that… here.” She held out her wand. He stared at her hand. “Just hold it in your hand.”

“It… it doesn’t like me holding it,” he muttered. “There’s a… pushback from it.”

Hermione nodded and took back her wand. “That’s how the city feels to me,” she explained. “It’s willing to deal with the fact that I’m here, but it doesn’t look to me.”

“What are you saying?” Dr. McKay demanded. “The city is a big wand?”

“Very old magical artefacts tend to have a type of sentience,” Hermione explained. She shrugged slightly. “My Alpha Guide thinks that it’s because magic itself seems to be sentient. Magical items can bond with their chosen wielder. The city has chosen the Colonel, although there are some very strong emotions tied to Dr. McKay.”

“To me?” Dr. McKay blinked in surprise.

“The city is very… proprietary about you, Dr. McKay. She… she thinks you belong to her,” Hermione admitted. She shrugged. “As long as you don’t come across any other large magical artefacts, you should be fine.”

“What does that mean?” The Colonel demanded with a frown.

“Have you ever seen an entire building _sulk_ , Colonel Sheppard?” Hermione asked drily.

“No,” Colonel Sheppard replied.

“Sometime I’ll tell you about the time my Alpha made the mistake of talking about his new house in front of the old one,” Hermione told him with a grin.

 

* * *

 

 

“Here.” Dr. McKay tossed a broken tangle of technology on the table in front of her.

Automatically, she flinched back from it. There was a magical residue that clung to the tech that _felt_ like the wraith. Hermione scowled at the pile of broken bits and pieces. She could tell that it was dead—that it wasn’t capable of transmitting anything—but it still made her faintly nauseated to be that close to it.

“What is this?” She asked.

“That was wired into your Sentinel’s nervous system. The wraith used it to hunt him for sport,” Dr. McKay explained in detached voice.

There was a wastebin nearby, but Hermione barely made it in time. When she sat up, Dr. McKay shoved a glass of water at her.

“You should get rid of it,” she muttered after she rinsed out her mouth. “It feels… slimy.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But I thought that it was important that you see it—that you feel it.”

“ _Why?_ ” Hermione asked, her voice tinged with horror. Dr. McKay sighed and sat down in a chair next to her.

“Sentinels can be stupid,” he huffed. He smiled at her then and rolled his eyes. “I know they can all hear me, but it’s true. They’re so used to trusting their instincts, and granted their instincts serve them well the majority of the time, but when it comes to their Guides… they get stupid.”

“So you’re saying my Sentinel is stupid,” Hermione said with a little laugh.

“As Guides we can _feel_ how wrong that wraith tech is, but our Sentinels? They can smell it and taste it and sense it deep in their guts,” Dr. McKay explained carefully. “With that thing stuck in his back, putting him on edge… I won’t say I agree with it because if _my_ Sentinel tried to get rid of me he’d be in for a rude awaking, but I do understand it.”

“You think I should just forgive him?” Hermione could hear her voice rise and she winced.

“Are you going to reject him?” Dr. McKay asked solemnly. “John will support you if that’s what you wish.”

The visceral horror that gripped Hermione at the thought of rejecting her Sentinel was overwhelming. Distantly, she heard a gasping, whimpering noise and she realized that it was her.

“Guide Granger.” Dr. McKay was holding her hands and trying to project calm at her. “Ronon, she needs you.”

“ _Guide_.” It was a whisper and a plea, all at once.

“She’s been through too much,” Dr. McKay was muttering in the background to someone. “Frankly, I’m surprised she was functioning as well as she was.”

Her fingers tightened on her Sentinel’s until he winced, but he never said a word.

“You kept making me leave,” she whispered.

“A Guide’s safety comes before everything else,” he recited. He shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry that you did not understand what I was doing. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

“I know an entrail-expelling curse,” she stated calmly. “There are impotence curses and hair removal curses and itching jinxes. I know them all. I’m the brightest witch of my age.”

“How can I shelter you, Guide?” He asked.

“You could introduce yourself,” Hermione suggested. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “It would help make it seem as though you were planning to let me stay with you.”

“I am Ronon of the House of Dex on Sateda.” He bowed over her hand.

“I am Hermione Granger, under the protection of the Houses of Potter, Malfoy, and Longbottom of wizarding Britain,” she replied.

“Three Houses?” Ronon’s eyes widened in shock.

“I didn’t have my own House and because I was a powerful, unbonded Guide, my Alphas worried,” Hermione explained. “I was offered their protection to make sure I would be safe.”

“Where do you wear their marks?” Ronon asked.

Hermione blinked at him. She touched the Occlumency ward she always wore. “This was given to me after the protection ceremonies.”

Ronon turned his head, showing her the tattoo on his neck. “This is the sign of the House of Dex.” A dull flush spread over his cheeks. “If you wish, you will have the right to wear it.”

“I will think on it,” she said with a nod.

“Does that mean the courting has officially begun?” Dr. McKay’s voice broke into their reverie. “Am I chaperoning you two?”

For a long moment, Hermione stared into Ronon’s eyes. He had gone completely still. She could still feel the longing of her Sentinel, reaching out to her. Mingled in the longing was a tiny kernel of hope. Sighing, Hermione nodded.

“Yes, I think so,” she admitted.

“Excellent.” Dr. McKay rubbed his hands together. “Ronon, I shall send you a list of acceptable courting gifts.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon and Hermione stumble their way through courting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief misunderstanding about wizarding/magical oaths that I perceive as a culture clash situation.

Sufficiently Advanced Technology

Chapter 5--Resolution

 

“Nobody does the courting customs anymore,” John observed with a frown.

“Any society that uses an antiquated training method probably still observes courting customs,” Rodney retorted from the inside of a wall panel.

“You do remember that I’m sitting right here,” Hermione huffed from her place next to Rodney on the floor of a closed off hallway.

“Of course, I know you’re here,” Rodney snapped. “I’m a genius. Now, let’s see if you can do what you claim.”

“You are _such_ an arsehole,” Hermione grumbled. Then she sniffed and tossed her head. “Too bad for you that I’m well used to intelligent bastards.”

“Whatever,” Rodney muttered. He handed her a darkened, cracked crystal.

Hermione waved her wand over the crystal. “ _Reparo_ ,” she murmured.

The crystal vibrated in her hand, and she watched the crack heal itself. The shadow at its centre vanished.

“Okay, let’s see how well that works.” Rodney grunted and wiggled back into the wall panel to put the crystal back in its housing.

Years of close proximity to Harry and Draco had trained Hermione so that she studiously avoided the way John’s gaze sharpened and focused on Rodney’s arse. She sighed and poked at a scanner that Rodney had given her that morning.

“Oh.” Hermione scanned the scrolling runes with a skilled eye. “Huh. There’s another bad crystal in there somewhere.”

“I see it,” Rodney called. More grunting and wriggling meant that Hermione kept her eyes glued to the scanner. He finally popped out with his hair sticking up wildly from his head. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Hermione muttered and took the crystal from him as carefully as she could. She put down the scanner and waved her wand again. “ _Reparo_.”

“I’ll deny that I ever said this, but magic might actually be useful,” Rodney declared cheerfully as he crawled back into the wall panel.

“She can decapitate wraith with her little stick, and you think magic _might_ be useful?” John leaned against the wall panel with an air of fond amusement.

“It is a _wand_ , thank you very much,” Hermione sniffed. She poked at the scanner again. “Oh, much better!”

“Let me see!” Rodney made grabby hands, and Hermione passed it over without complaint.

“Besides, you should see what I could do with a proper staff,” Hermione told John.

“Like, a group of wizards that report to you?” John asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“I think she means like a ‘wizard’s staff’ sort of staff,” Rodney suggested. He tapped at the scanner with quick fingers. “You’re right, this is much better. Excellent! I have an entire bin of cracked crystals.”

“A wand is easy to use on the run,” Hermione explained. “But if it’s a pitched battle, then a staff would give me more oomph.” She frowned at Rodney. “An entire bin? What have you people been doing?”

“ _I_ have been doing the best I can to shore up the systems of a city that is more than 10,000 years old,” Rodney informed her haughtily. He huffed as he replaced the wall panel. “It’s the morons who think they know what they’re doing that end up causing issues.”

An electric shock zapped Hermione where she sat.

“Ow!” Hermione rubbed her bum and glared at the ceiling. “I’m not disparaging your precious _Architectos_.”

“She really doesn’t like you, does she?” John murmured.

“It isn’t that she doesn’t like me,” Hermione sighed. “She’s suspicious of me. Did you have anyone like me here before? Someone that attempted to make you or Rodney leave?”

“Once,” Rodney said in a tight, unhappy voice.

“Right.” Hermione took out her wand and held it up. The tip glowed brightly as a manifestation of her magic. She looked up at the ceiling again. “You can monitor me if you want to, Atlantis. If I make a vow upon my magic, I am bound to uphold it. If I do not, I will lose my magic, and as a magical being… I’ll die. Does that work for you?”

“No!” John protested automatically. He held his hands out in front of him and glared at Hermione. “He can hear you anywhere in the city.”

It took mere minutes for Ronon to appear in the hall, his chest heaving from having run across the city so quickly. His eyes were a little wild and there was a feral edge to him. Ronon glared at everyone in the hallway and he scowled at the ceiling.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Hermione said cautiously. She rose and moved to stand by her Sentinel. She touched Ronon’s arm with just the tips of her fingers, trying to ground him without pushing him over the edge. “A magical oath will ensure my compliance—it will actively work to protect my magic.”

“If the city would force such an oath, then we will leave,” Ronon growled. His hands hovered as though he were contemplating grabbing her and heading for the ring of the ancestors. “I know many dead worlds where we could make a home,” he promised her.

“If I can find a ZedPM, or help Rodney recharge one, we could always go to my world,” Hermione offered with a small smile. “I imagine that my pride is going spare not knowing where I am, or if I’m safe.”

“I would like to meet your Alpha Sentinel and Guide,” Ronon agreed with a nod, relaxing slightly. “On Sateda, it was an important ceremony.”

“Now that we’ve all agreed that our resident witch was not trying to insult me, or kill herself, can we please clear out this hallway so that I can work?” Rodney demanded. He pointed at John. “Go chaperone them somewhere else.”

“This is an uninhabited area, McKay. I’m not leaving you alone here,” John reminded him in a low voice. Rodney tapped his earpiece with a roll of his eyes.

“Dr. Delenoir,” Rodney snapped. “Can you please chaperone our unbonded Sentinel/Guide pair as they take a tour of West Pier? Or the East Pier? All of them, maybe.”

“He said yes,” John murmured and made shooing motions at Hermione and Ronon. “Have fun!”

Hermione sighed and followed Ronon back to the centre of the city.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Silence weighed heavily between them as they walked out along one of Atlantis’ many piers. Hermione and Ronon walked side-by-side with Dr. Delenoir trailing along behind them. There was a physical distance that Hermione was certain held a cultural significance on Sateda, but there was an emotional distance as well. She could feel Ronon attempting to hold himself back emotionally, and she could sense that he was struggling to keep calm. Hermione wracked her brain, trying to think of something innocuous to discuss.

“Was courting a common practice among Sentinels and Guides on Sateda?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” Ronon replied. He snuck a glance at her and then looked away. “I was told that formal courting wasn’t common on Earth.”

“It depends on the country, and in my case, it depends on the magical community to which you belong,” Hermione explained. “Although formal courtship periods are fairly common in most magical communities, especially if you’re under the protection of a magical House.”

“What does a formal courtship mean, in your community?” Ronon asked with a furrowed brow.

“You’re expected to show that you understand who I am, and that you plan to honour that in our relationship,” Hermione replied. She paused and chewed on her lower lip. “My Alpha Sentinel and Alpha Guide came from different factions.”

“They were enemies?” Ronon asked with a frown.

“Some would argue that they were,” Hermione replied slowly. “It was more complicated than that. Let’s say that they belonged to two different tribes that had a history of animosity. It’s a simplistic reduction of the obstacles they faced, but for now it will do.”

“So, the Sentinel had to show that he would honour the Guide’s tribe, even though he had been raised to hate that tribe?” Ronon looked over to Hermione to make sure he understood.

“That is an astute observation,” Hermione murmured. She blushed at his raised eyebrow and shook her head. “I meant no disrespect, it’s just that there is so much emotional baggage involved with Harry and Draco’s relationship that most people aren’t as succinct.”

“It is very much like a story from Sateda,” Ronon replied with a shrug. “The Guide and Sentinel came from two Houses that had been feuding for centuries.”

“The Romeo and Juliet of Sateda?” Hermione suggested.

“They were called Irin and Kalhomel,” Ronon said. He cleared his throat. “Bright was the eye of Irin, and round was the curve of his cheek, and full was his smile when Kalhomel did look his way.”

“That was beautiful. Is that a line of Satedian poetry?” Hermione asked eagerly. Ronon blinked at her in surprised pleasure.

“It is from an epic poem from the Classical period,” Ronon explained. A dull flush rose in his cheeks. “I was tasked with memorizing a part of it and reciting it as a child.”

“For God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love,” Hermione murmured with a small smile. Ronon stared at her with wide eyes and she shook her head. “Some schools require that in the UK. I went to a very proper grammar school, and I ended up memorizing several poems.”

“That was a line of Earth poetry?” Ronon asked. Hermione nodded.

“What was courting like on Sateda?” She asked quietly.

“The Sentinel would go before the Alpha Sentinel and the Alpha Guide of the Guide in whom they were interested,” Ronon replied. He took a deep breath and looked out over the water. “The Alphas would arrange several meetings to see if the pair would suit.”

Sadness rippled out to Hermione and brushed against her shields like wavelets.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered. “We don’t need to talk about Sateda if it will upset you. It must have been devastating to have your territory desecrated like that.”

“No.” Ronon closed his eyes for a moment and then turned to look at her. “I didn’t come online until the wraith culled Sateda. I was taken, and when I woke up I was online and a Runner.”

The stark grief and pain in those few words struck Hermione with all the power of the Hogwarts Express. Everything that was in her longed to soothe her Sentinel and ease his burden. She doubted that he’d felt comfortable enough to discuss this with anyone else on Atlantis. Ronon Dex seemed to be the sort who didn’t open to others easily.

“ _Sentinel_.” Hermione moved closer to him but hesitated to touch him. She wasn’t sure she could handle another rejection from Ronon.

“I was certain that I had been cursed,” he muttered half to himself. “Sateda was an advanced world—I hadn’t been raised with superstitions, but in that moment, it felt all too possible.”

“Curses are a reality with magic,” Hermione said carefully. “But I was raised in a non-magical household, so I understand the sentiment.”

“Then I walked through the ring, and there you were, and I _knew_ that I had been cursed,” Ronon continued, his hands fisting at his sides. “You were perfect—everything I would have wanted on Sateda—but I was tainted.”

Hermione snorted. “I’m hardly perfect,” she warned him. “I can’t cook a thing. I burn _water_. I work too much. I’m bossy and opinionated. I’ve been told I’ve got a bit of a vicious streak.”

“I can cook,” Ronon offered with a serious expression.

 

* * *

 

 

“I hate to disappoint you, but the interface is not user-friendly at all,” The linguist apologized for the fifth time. “There doesn’t seem to be any kind of index. The order of information is illogical at the best of times.”

“If everything you lot have told me is accurate, I’m not surprised,” Hermione replied. “It explains a _lot_ about the wizarding world.”  

Reluctantly, Hermione placed her hand on the console. She took a deep breath, and then let the console interact with her magic. She concentrated on the information she was seeking, and above the console Ancient Runes began to scroll as the system added possible query results to the list.

“How are you doing that?” The linguist breathed. “Not even Dr. McKay can get it to do that.”

“Magic,” Hermione replied absently. “If the user has a strong enough magical core, the city will try to interact with their magic.”

“No one here has magic, except you,” the linguist protested.

Hermione chose not to correct the linguist and focused on her search results.

While she was technically the only witch on the city, both the Colonel and Major Evan Lorne would qualify as Squibs. Dr. McKay had apparently been latent before receiving a gene therapy that had made him a Squib as well. If Hermione had to guess, both Sheppard and Lorne had magical ancestors who had been forced to leave the American enclave because they had fallen in love with Muggles.

In fact, Hermione was half-tempted to make a note for herself to check and see if any Potters had immigrated to the colonies at some point. There were far too many times that the Colonel reminded her of Harry.

“What are you doing?” Rodney demanded as he stomped up to her console. “How are you doing _that_?”

“With the power of my mind,” she snapped. “Hang on, I almost have it.”

“Have what?” Rodney countered.

“There,” Hermione sighed in relief.

Rotating in front of them were the schematics for a ZedPM. Rodney stared at the design avidly, his eyes drinking in everything.

“Can you send this to my tablet?” Rodney asked.

“Already sent,” Hermione replied.

“Holy shit,” Rodney breathed. He turned to stare at her. “I think I love you just a little bit.”

“Pfft.” Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Let’s be honest, McKay. You love the ZedPM.”

“I love the ZedPM,” Rodney agreed. He grinned at her and tapped his earpiece. “Zelenka! Kusanagi!”

 

* * *

 

 

“They’re saying that you helped McKay find the plans for a ZPM,” Ronon said quietly. He shifted his stance and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Are you planning on going back to Earth?”

“Eventually, yes.” Hermione moved to stand closer to him and put her hand on his arm. “I expect by the time Rodney figures everything out, I’ll be a bonded Guide, and I’ll be dragging you along with me.”

Ronon stared at her hand for a long moment, and then looked at her. Conflicting emotions shifted over his face and he struggled for a moment to hold everything together.

“Hermione,” he managed to get out. “I need…”

“I know, Ronon,” she murmured as she moved closer to him.

With her other hand, she cupped his cheek, and his lashes swept down as he closed his eyes. She leaned up on tip-toe so that her lips were almost brushing his.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” She asked him gently.

“I’ve been ready for seven years,” he whispered. His eyes opened, and she smiled at the wonder shining there. “I never thought that I would find you.”

“I was starting to wonder where you were,” Hermione teased him. She swallowed hard and pulled away, putting a little distance between them. “But I don’t want you to feel obligated. Like you must do this if you don’t want to, if you aren’t ready.”

“What about you?” Ronon protested. With shaking fingers, he captured a stray curl and wrapped it about his finger. “I was a Runner… I… wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want me.”

“Oh, Ronon,” Hermione sighed. She shook her head and flushed. “It’s a little embarrassing how much I want you.”

“I don’t mean sex.” Ronon said in his blunt way. “I mean…”

“I know what you meant, you silly man.” Hermione leaned up and brushed her lips against his. “I want you every way you’ll let me have you. I choose you, Sentinel.”

Faint tremors shook Ronon’s body, and without conscious thought, Hermione wrapped her arms around him. She held on as the shaking intensified, clinging to him. Then Ronon wrapped his arms around her and clung to her. He was mumbling something into her hair and it took her a moment to realize what he was saying.

“I choose you, Guide,” he whispered. “I choose you.”

Hermione released him and pushed against his chest. When Ronon reluctantly let go, she held out her hand to him. The tidal wave of emotion from her Sentinel almost overwhelmed her. Hermione blew out a breath in surprise.

“Let’s go, Sentinel,” she said in a voice thick with emotion. Ronon’s large hand engulfed hers.

On the walk to her assigned room, Hermione was hyperaware of her hand in Ronon’s. She could feel the callouses of his fingers and palms slid over her skin. Her heart raced, and his fingers tightened on hers.

“Hermione?” Ronon’s voice had dropped an octave.

“I’m fine,” Hermione promised.

The privacy of her room was a relief. Hermione connected with the door and sealed it tightly. Then she threw up as many wards as she could think of for good measure.

“What is all that?” Ronon asked.

“I’m making sure that we aren’t interrupted,” Hermione explained.

When she was done, she carefully set her wand on her nightstand. She unbuckled her wandholder and set it down as well. Finally, she took her Occlumency ward and lifted it over her head, setting it down. Then she turned to face Ronon who was watching her curiously.

“Well.” Hermione cleared her throat. “Shower first?”

Ronon’s eyes darkened and he seemed to stop breathing for a moment. “Sounds good,” he agreed in a gravelly voice.

Slowly, he began to pull off his clothes. Hermione’s eyes widened as more and more tawny, golden skin was revealed.

“Right,” she murmured. “Shower.” She turned and hurried into the bathroom.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want this—she’d wanted it for seven years. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Ronon. Even if the arsehole had made her want to smack him, she was willing to admit that her Sentinel had been forced to make awful choices in a horrific situation. It was just that this… being naked in the same room with him… meant that it was _finally_ happening. They were going to bond.

The shower was more than willing to activate all the shower heads at once, filling the bathroom with steam. Hermione neatly and efficiently took off her clothes and folded them, setting them on a shelf in the bathroom.

The door opened and Ronon slipped into the room. Hermione turned her focus to him. Absently, she admired the very lovely view while her gaze focused on the scars that littered her Sentinel’s body. She knew, by the sudden sharpening of his gaze, that he’d spotted her scars. With a smile, she moved into his space and reached out to brush her fingers over his skin.

“Come on,” she said with a smile. “I’ll let you wash my back.”

Ronon blinked at her and flushed. “On Sateda, that would be an offer of sex.”

“Oh, love,” Hermione laughed. “Isn’t that exactly what’s about to happen?”

Exploring Ronon’s body with Sentinel-friendly soap and a washcloth was intoxicating. When he returned the favour, she did her best to hold still for him, but it was difficult. His fingers worked shampoo into her hair with incredible gentleness, and she melted into his touch. Once they were clean to his satisfaction, Ronon bundled them out of the bathroom and back into her room.

The soft press of his lips to her forehead was a surprise. She tilted her head back and looked up at him. A soft smile played at the edges of his mouth before he leaned down and kissed her lips. He tasted like spiced tea and Hermione kissed him back eagerly. The drag of his lips over her collarbone made her moan and press against him. His chuckles puffed against her skin in warm bursts.

“Patience,” he murmured into her shoulder.

“I’m not very patient,” Hermione admitted with a little wriggle against him.

“I must learn every inch of you,” he whispered against the side of her breast.

“Oh,” Hermione sighed as he found a nipple.

Slowly, far, far too slowly, Ronon made his way over every inch of Hermione’s skin. The care and gentleness he was taking with her touched Hermione, but she couldn’t help the wanton moan that escaped her lips when his teeth scraped the skin on the inside of her knee. He paused and looked at her from his place between her thighs. She flushed and shrugged.

“I’m not going to break, Sentinel,” she promised him.

As if to test her, Ronon nipped her inner thigh. Another moan and he became bolder as he worked his way higher interspersing nips with open-mouthed kisses against her skin. She sighed when he ran a finger over her slit, the warmth of his breath making her squirm in anticipation. 

“So wet,” he growled.

“ _Ronon_ ,” Hermione huffed.

That earned her another wicked chuckle before Ronon turned his attention back where it belonged. He used his thumbs to gently pull back her lips, giving him greater access as he licked a stripe up from her perineum to her clitoris. Her loud moan was rewarded with a low growl, and she lifted her hips in entreaty. Pleasure drifted over her as Ronon worked her clit with his lips and tongue. At the same time, his fingers stroked her carefully, and one hand slid up her chest to gently pinch a nipple. She bucked against him, crying out in pleasure.

Ronon surged above her, pressing his lips to hers, letting her taste herself on his lips. Hermione grabbed his head, holding him in place so that she could return his kiss. The hard, heavy weight of his cock pressed against her thigh, but he seemed happy just to kiss her. She caught his lower lip between his teeth and growled at him.

“In me,” she demanded. “ _Now_.”

“You aren’t patient,” Ronon observed as he slid her legs over his arms. They both groaned as he slid home inside her. Then his eyes found hers and he swallowed. “Still perfect.”

“You can flatter me later,” Hermione told him. She squirmed against him and grinned when he closed his eyes. “Let’s bond.”

It went against all her training, but Hermione dropped every shield she had. The first true touch of Ronon’s mind on hers was brilliant and blinding and perfect in a way that she couldn’t explain properly. There were no words that described how well they slotted together, how perfectly they complemented one another.

Pleasure sparked on all her senses at once and her vision whited out for a moment as she adjusted to the bond. She could feel Ronon’s face, buried into her shoulder as he shook against her. There was the feel of his teeth digging into her skin, and she could feel her magic move within her. Knowing that it was the right thing to do, Hermione bit Ronon’s shoulder. The moment that her teeth broke skin and blood touched her tongue, magic swirled around them both and Hermione shivered.

“What was that?” Ronon asked warily, pulling back to look her in the eye.

“Magic,” Hermione replied. “It moves where it will. Sometimes it pushes us along a specific path. I’ve learned to listen to my magic.”

As Ronon moved to settle next to her, he froze. His fingers brushed the side of her neck.

“The House of Dex,” he whispered. “Magic?”

“Magic,” Hermione agreed. She shifted on her side so that she could look him in the eye. “Is that okay?”

“I should be asking you that question,” Ronon countered.

“You are my Sentinel. I’m your Guide. We’re bonded,” Hermione reminded him, and ignored the smug smile that earned her. “When Rodney figures out his ZedPM and we visit my world, believe me, you’ll be added to the rolls as a dependent of the Houses of Potter and Malfoy at the very least.”

“Okay,” Ronon agreed. He eyed her thoughtfully. “It will take McKay awhile to figure it out, won’t it?”

“Even Rodney won’t be able to make it happen immediately. He’ll need at least a few days,” Hermione agreed.

“Good.” Ronon rolled onto his back and pulled Hermione until she was sprawled on his chest. He cupped her face and kissed her slow and lazy.

“Good,” Hermione agreed breathlessly a few minutes later.

Then Ronon’s hands slid down to cup her arse and she didn’t think about Rodney McKay or ZedPMs for a good long while.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
